


Waiting For Superman

by firetruckyeah



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Domestic Boyfriends, Fluff and Humor, I Don't Even Know, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22348888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firetruckyeah/pseuds/firetruckyeah
Summary: Miguel yawned, jaw popping, as he climbed the last three steps to his apartment. The stink of gun smoke filled his nose, despite the hour and a half since the last time someone tried to shot him. His wrists ached, so did his back, legacy of a kick to the hip that had sent him sprawling through a crumbling chimney and then down over the roof edge into a dumpster one story below. His boots felt like they were made of concrete, not metal and leather.
Relationships: Francesco Bagnaia/Miguel Oliveira
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Waiting For Superman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Always_Dreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_Dreaming/gifts).



> Inspired by [this comment](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/274300381) by Always_Dreaming. Well Miguel it's not exactly Superman in this, but he is some kind of superhero so i think it fits. I added Alzamora in it bc it fitted in my mind lmao.

Miguel yawned, jaw popping, as he climbed the last three steps to his apartment. The stink of gun smoke filled his nose, despite the hour and a half since the last time someone tried to shot him. His wrists ached, so did his back, legacy of a kick to the hip that had sent him sprawling through a crumbling chimney and then down over the roof edge into a dumpster one story below. His boots felt like they were made of concrete, not metal and leather.

At least no one in this particular hideout gave a damn if he came in looking like something fresh out of a gang war. Most of the residents were probably fast asleep, and everyone thought of him as a nerdy journalist anyway. They were all busy with their life and minded their own business other than trying to hook Miguel up with this or that son or daughter. The worst one on that shuffled out of his apartment as he dragged his feet up the hallway.

Old Mr Alzamora, he of the serious looks and suits over expensive shoes, snorted and slapped his hip as he passed. Miguel frowned at him, grinning when he sent a death glare right back at him.

"Get some damn sleep" Mr Alzamora said as he stomped towards the stairs, "that boy of yours woke me up early".

"Sorry," Miguel apologized automatically. He paused with his hand on the door as he wondered who exactly Mr Alzamora was talking about. He was gone, stomping down the stairs like he was two metres tall and three hundred kilos instead of the medium sized man he was. Miguel frowned, slapped his cheek to wake up a little, it didn't work. Neither did shaking his head and then pinching his arm. There was music coming from inside, bass pounding just loud enough that he could feel it through the floor but not loud enough for him to recognize the tune. Beat that fast meant either Brad, Pecco or Joan. Fabio liked fast but he preferred even faster than that. And Jack, the little shit, insisted on playing trap whenever he crashed with Miguel. Happened more and more since he got into the main category of the league like the Australian did not long before.

Miguel eased the door open, shut it carefully behind him while scanning the combined living room and kitchen. No signs of a walking disasters so it couldn't be Brad. And the kitchen wasn't touched so probably not Joan. He always made a point of cooking something while he was there, just to leave the leftovers in his fridge. 

Weirdly, it wasn't touched at all. Had to be Pecco visiting and he always attacked Miguel's coffee machine but no, nothing was out of place.

Bedroom door was shut, muffling the fast-shifting flow of too-loud 00's pop music a bit. Not enough as far as Miguel was concerned. Sounded like Pecco'd had too much coffee and painkillers again because he didn't stay on any one song for more than a few seconds.

"The hell are you doing?" Miguel asked as he opened the bedroom door.

He stopped, sighed, and pulled of his patrolling outfit. Pecco, dressed in one of Miguel's T-shirts, one of his sweatshirts and a pair of his sweatpants that were a bit short on him, lay on the bed, snoring. Somehow, he'd contorted himself so that his laptop remained stable on his lap while sliding sideways until his cheek rested on the covers. One of his hands was on the touchpad. Every time he twitched in his sleep, the song changed.

"You are too much" Miguel said as he carefully disentangled the computer from Pecco's clutches. Turning the music off got him a mumbled and one hand flapping at Miguel, "ridiculous. I don't know why I put up with you. Flat hopeless, that's you".

By the time Miguel had shut down Pecco's computer, stripped his clothes off, showered, eaten the last of the really awesome pasta Joan had made during his last visit, Pecco had sprawled across Miguel's entire bed. His feet dangled off the far side closest to Miguel's window. One hand flopped over the edge on the opposite side, fingers still twitching. And his head rested just under the covers with only enough of an air hole for Pecco to breathe. "Completely ridiculous" Miguel snorted. He shoved Pecco back into the middle of the bed, dodged three nerve strikes that would have been nasty if Pecco'd been able to aim them properly, and then pulled the covers up over both of them even though Pecco's legs still dangled off the side of the bed.

Miguel waited, light off. One minute in Pecco grunted and curled into a ball on the other side of the bed, wiry back to Miguel and elbows at the ready to cripple anything that got too close. Two minutes and Pecco sighed, stretched out properly, over the full length of the bed. Then he grumbled, opened his eyes to blink at Miguel, before rolling half on top of the older. He firmly buried his face in the nook of Miguel's neck, kissed that spot as if it was his favourite, and then sighed. "Hopeless" Miguel chuckled. "Go to sleep" Pecco muttered back, the last word dissolving into a light breath that made Miguel's heart clench in strange, wonderful ways.

"Completely hopeless" Miguel whispered, brushing a kiss of his own over the top of Pecco's head as he hugged Pecco gently, cautiously, grinning at the angry grumbles against his neck. "Lucky I don't throw you out. In the morning. Next year. Sometime".


End file.
